"Poor old Bobbie!" said Julia, sympathetically. "It's a bit rough on you."
"And I was getting on so well with her," he continued, with a sigh. "I believe that in another week I should have won her. And then this Winn must needs turn up. I ought to hate him as a rival; I should like to, but, 'pon my word, I can't. He's such a good sort.
"Jove! how these fellows get on! Here we have a man, I don't believe he's touched thirty yet, been working like a nigger in some place or other, starts a new country, becomes the right-hand man of the company formed to run it, and in a few years he returns to his native land, pleasantly near to being a millionaire. I don't know how they do it!" he finished, despairingly.
"'WOULDN'T GERMANY GIVE SOMETHING FOR THE CONTENTS OF THAT WALLET!'"
Miss Crofton glanced at her cousin's good-natured though somewhat indolent-looking face.
"I believe," she said, calmly, "the possession of a quality termed 'grit' frequently explains the mystery."
"And now," went on Bobbie, concernedly, "the beggar has the chance of marrying the loveliest girl in society. Anyone can see that Dolly idolises him, and that he has but to say the word, and she is his. Oh! it's disgusting!"
"Perhaps he won't say it," said Miss Crofton.
"Of course he will," replied Bobbie, warmly. "There is no man on earth who could possibly be such a fool as to refuse the chance. Why, Kenwell is Chairman of the Chartered Company of Kafangaland, and is dead set on the match himself. Oh! he couldn't be such a fool!" he added, shaking his head with an air of conviction.